Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Obviously the general hadn’t reached London and if he had he certainly hadn’t begun spewing accusations of murder. Yet.

  Alex sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Charley wanted answers and he couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. The problem was, once she learned the truth, he’d lose her. Pure and simple. She’d never understand the circumstances surrounding Tobias Witherspoon’s death— hell, half the time Alex didn’t understand himself—but he’d reached a point where he couldn’t live without her. Not the dream Charley from the battlefield, but the living breathing woman sharing his life. The woman he laughed and shared a bottle of wine with after dinner each evening… the one person whose honest opinion he valued above all others…

  Deep in thought, Alex prowled the perimeter of the ballroom, avoiding acquaintances and chatty matrons eager to draw him into conversation. Curious glances and pointed fingers shot in his direction, but none seemed accusatory. Unease slithered down his spine. Probably just the crowd. He hated crowds. Perhaps he should find a card game. Lose himself in a cloud of smoke and the stench of brandy.

  From across the way Lady Veronica Childers caught his eye. She tossed a coy smile over her shoulder and sashayed toward the balcony. Internally Alex groaned; Veronica’s meaning was implicit. He could ignore the invitation, but after all that had transpired in the last years he owed her at least a few minutes of explanation. Surreptitiously he glanced around the ballroom, Charley was nowhere in sight, so he strode after Lady Veronica.

  A luminescent smile lit Veronica’s face the moment he stepped through the balcony doors. “Alex.” Angelic… no other word in the English language existed to describe her. The most beautiful woman in London—if not the whole of Britain—and she knew it. “So good to see you.” Gracefully she slid forward, settling a gentle hand to his chest, and pressing soft lips to his cheek.

  “And you, my lady.” Tactfully he stepped back, letting her hand drop back to her side. Strange, but her presence did not affect him the way it usually did. Instead Charley lay squarely at the forefront of his mind and desires.

  Not so easily deterred Veronica sidled forward, slipping her slender fingers into his. “None of your letters mentioned you’d be coming home so soon.” A pretty pout touched her lips. “You might have told me.”

  “My apologies, Lady Veronica, but I told no one of my arrival.”

  She closed the distance between them, tilting her face, inviting him to kiss her.

  “Veronica, please, not here. I’m married, remember.”

  “Ah, but things change. Marriages change. Unfortunate… events occur. We may be together once again, Alex. One never knows what the future might bring.”

  A sharp gasp from the door drew his attention.

  Charley stood just inside the white drapery, a hand at her breast and eyes filled with such innocent betrayal his heart ached. The breath physically left his body. Oh, but more than innocence reflected back at him… more than betrayal… Her green eyes, wide and bright as lanterns, delved into him with a naivety Veronica’s gaze never held. True sorrow touched Charley’s eyes. He’d hurt her. The reality pierced him like a spear.

  Without a word his wife turned on a heel and swept back into the ballroom.

  “Charley,” he called, striding after her. “Charley, wait.” His outburst drew more than a few interested gazes, but as he raked his eyes across the crowd he didn’t particularly care. Methodically he searched the crush of dancers, growing more agitated by the second. How could Charley have so suddenly disappeared? The band struck up a waltz, and a pang of guilt struck him that he’d not danced with her earlier.

  A flash of filmy pink caught his eye, and at last he spotted Charley twirling in the arms… of Sidney. A white-hot needle of jealousy pierced him to the core. That was his wife spinning and whirling in the arms of the ton’s most incorrigible rake. Determined, Alex strode through the sea of silken dancers and firmly tapped Sidney on the shoulder. “Cutting in,” he clipped.

  Over Sidney’s shoulder Charley shot him a murderous glare. “Ignore him, Sidney, Alex doesn’t dance.”

  “I do now,” he growled. “Kindly step aside.”

  “I don’t want to dance with you anymore. Go enjoy more of Lady Veronica’s favors.”

  Sidney, looking decidedly uncomfortable, glanced between the two. “Look, Alex, this isn’t the time or the place for this particular argument.”

  Typical. Here was Sid, intentionally stirring the pot, and yet again setting himself up to be the reasonable one… to be Charley’s hero. Alex stalked forward. “Get your hands off my wife.”

  Sidney refused to comply yet again. Alex balled his hand into a fist, and let it fly.

  Sid sprawled backward, clutching his jaw. Blood trickled over his bottom lip onto the ballroom floor. “You son of a bitch.” He lunged at Alex, a dark gleam flickering in his eyes.

  Alex swiveled right, catching Sidney’s arm, wrenching it behind his back and driving him to his knees. “Keep away from my wife.”

  Sid grunted, struggling beneath Alex’s heavier bulk. “Can you keep her away from me?”

  Alex cocked an arm more than ready to drive it into the side of Sid’s smug, leering face. “Why I’ll pound the living sh—”

  “That is enough.” Strong arms steeled around Alex dragging him off Sidney. Two other men flanked Sid, hauling him backward and out of the line of fire. Lord Belleview stepped between the men, providing a physical barrier.

  “Release me,” Alex seethed, jerking against his binds.

  “Alex, stop this foolishness immediately.”

  Slowly the red hot haze faded and Alex saw Charley. She stood directly in front of him, a wealth of hurt, anger and more than a little fear lining her beautiful face. Fear? No. This was all wrong. He didn’t want Charley to fear him. He stopped fighting and glared at the circle of finely dressed aristocrats gawking at the brawl. A few even surreptitiously passed money between hands, no doubt having bet on the outcome—Alex had won. He always won. Of course the ton would titter on about the fight for the foreseeable future and all his efforts to maintain a low profile were officially up in smoke. Finally the set of bear’s arms released him. Alex glanced sideways to see who it was. Jack Reese. A pang of unexpected regret hit him. Pity he’d run into his old school chum under these circumstances. They’d been thick of thieves at Eton, but scarcely spoken in over ten years.

  Uncomfortably Alex cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

  A collective murmur rushed over the crowd though none moved or formally accepted his piss poor excuse of an apology.

  Charley stepped forward and grasped his arm. “Let’s go. Now.” She refused to meet his gaze, but tension fairly cracked the line of her jaw.

  Curtly he nodded, slipping a possessive arm about her waist, and storming through the ballroom to the door. A footman had Charley’s coat waiting and Alex paced impatiently about the entrance way as she slipped into it. Once she was ready yet another black clad footman swung open the portal of escape and Alex all but bolted through it, straight into dreaded figure of… General Witherspoon.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered caught totally off guard.

  The general appeared every bit as shocked as Alex. “Rawlings?” he spluttered, blinking in overt shock. The surprise lasted only a matter of seconds before loathing and rage contorted his face. “Rawlings, you murdering son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Twelve

  “Murder?” Regina’s shrill voice pierced the crisp night air, mirroring Charley’s thoughts. “Did he just say murder?”

  Frozen Charley could not even manage a nod as her mother-in-law approached from behind.

  “Welcome home to you too, sir,” Alex quipped dryly, squaring off with the older man. “And you’re a real hypocrite to bandy about such accusations.”

  General Witherspoon stepped forward, eyes black with loathing. “Burn in hell.”

  “I know what you did,” Alex growled, refusing to bac
k down. Power flowed with lightening force between the men and Charley could not help but be reminded of clashing Titans. Would Zeus or some other high power intervene to save these men from imminent disaster?

  Just when the chill air seemed taught enough to crack, the general straightened his black cravat. “I’ll see to it you’re taken care of soon,” he snapped, and strode up the stairs past Charley and Regina.

  The threat seemed more than implicit and Charley was not privy to the details of their situation. Murder echoed over and again from within the grand confines of the Brumble manse, heightening Alex’s roiling unease.

  Charley stumbled down the stairs on quaking limbs. “So that’s what this is all about? General Witherspoon believes you murdered someone?”

  Stiffly he nodded.

  Horror filled her to the core. “Did you?”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, taking explosive strides down the remaining steps. He yanked off his hat, crushing it between his hands. “Where is my goddamn carriage?” he hollered into the darkness.

  Regina descended the stairs, cold and brittle as ever, spearing Alex with a lethal glare. “If you’re bound for the gaol then she’d better be pregnant.” She jammed a finger in Charley’s direction. “And you’d best see that it’s a boy.”

  Charley bristled. “I’ll ha—”

  “That is quite enough, Mother. No one is bound for the gaol.”

  Their coach rattled up the cobbled drive. Regina moved for the carriage. “You don’t mind if I ride home with you. I can hardly show my face back at Lady Brumble’s party after the scene she instigated.”

  Alex smoothly intercepted her. “You came without us you’ll leave the same way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a moment alone with my wife.”

  “Wife.” Regina’s blue eyes flashed pure ice. “Barren hussy seems a far more apt description. Why if I’d known she was carrying on with Sidney, in my own house no less, I would have—”

  Barren hussy? Of all the insults… Red tinged Charley’s vision and something inside her just snapped. She stormed forward, fists clenched, more than prepared to give Regina a knuckle or two to chew on. Appearances be damned. More scandal be damned. She’d suffered this woman’s incessant barrage long enough. In one swift motion she slung an arm through the air, slugging Regina square in the jaw.

  “Ah!” Regina sprawled backward, landing hard on the ice hewn walkway.

  “Jesus,” Alex spluttered. “Nice hit.”

  Charley shook her hand, knowing she should be embarrassed or remorseful but not quite able to summon anything but pure exhilaration.

  “Control your whore,” Regina raged, pounding her fists on the cobblestones.

  To Charley’s utter surprise, Alex grasped his mother’s arm in an iron vice and yanked her to her feet. “You will cease disrespecting my wife immediately. In the next week if I see you so much as look at her in a manner I deem inappropriate I’ll ship you to the country estate in Scotland.”

  Regina gasped. Scotland and the country were the only things she hated more than Charley. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. Apologize to my wife.”

  “But she—”

  “Now.”

  Regina gulped, and faced Charley. “Very well. Charlotte, I am deeply sorry if you’ve found any of my comments… offensive.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not inclined to accept.”

  Regina spluttered in response.

  Charley ignored her righteous indignation and marched to the carriage, clamoring aboard without any assistance. “Let’s go, Alex, you have much to explain.”

  Her husband climbed aboard after her, hesitated in the doorway, and finally took a seat opposite her.

  “I won’t apologize for hitting your mother,” she said tightly.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Charley slid to the opposite corner, putting as much distance between her and Alex as possible. Tension emanated from his body in palpable waves though he made no attempt to speak or make excuses. Silence lapsed

  “How long did you write her?” Charley asked finally, flicking her gaze to his brooding figure slumped against the window. She dared not look directly at him, else he see the pieces of her heart floating in her eyes.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face in overt frustration. “Please, Charley, it was—”

  “How long?”

  “It was nothing, I swear it. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Nothing? Writing to a woman other than your wife is not nothing, Alex. Some might even call it infidelity.”

  “Is it any different than you carrying on a friendship with Sidney?”

  “Yes. It is worlds different. Sidney and I were never practically engaged,” she hissed. “Tell me, have you been to visit Veronica without telling me as well?”

  “No. I wrote her a few letters a year and only in response to those she sent me.”

  All women felt dowdy and wanting in the presence of Lady Veronica, but never before this moment had Charley felt more grossly inadequate. You never answered my letters. But she was not brave enough to speak the words aloud. Hear the obvious truth that he still loved Veronica and not her despite what sweet lies he wove. She’d written him one letter a month for over a year. When no response came she’d ceased trying. The army postal system may be unreliable, but surely at least one of her letters made it through.

  “What about Sidney? He turns to a love sick idiot whenever you’re in the room.” He leaned forward suddenly, invading her space. “You are my wife, Charlotte,” Alex growled, the warning in his tone implicit. “It would behoove you to remember that.”

  “I hardly believe you’re jealous of Sidney with Veronica panting at your heels.”

  “Veronica is nothing to me.”

  “No, she’s just the woman you wrote home to from the war.”

  “Damn it, Charley, enough about Veronica. Your flirtation with Sidney and Lord knows who else is over. I’ll not have half of London society whispering about what a fool I am and what you and Sid are doing behind my back. Jealousy has nothing to do with it. We must keep up appearances.”

  Disappointment and anger pierced her heart. He told her he loved her, but a piece of her had always suspected he’d been telling her what she wanted to hear. Once he wooed a son from her he’d be free to run back to the army and carry on with Lady Veronica. The young widow was still more sought after than most first season debutantes. Alex wasn’t sorry for what she’d seen, he was only sorry he’d been caught in the midst of an assignation. A hot rush of tears scalded her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to show him her distress. “Because you murdered Tobias Witherspoon?”

  Alex froze so suddenly Charley wished she could pull the words back. All color drained from his face and a haunted, faraway haze glassed over his eyes. Dread pooled in her middle. Silence, thick and somehow loud enough to speak volumes settled oppressively around them.

  “Alex, did you—”

  “Yes.” He met her stare with unsettling sincerity. “I killed the general’s son.”

  Chills cooled the blood hot with anger in Charley’s veins. “Oh, my god.” Denial crashed through her. Alex may be many things but murder?

  “There was a patrol.” Even in darkness the tremor in his hand was obvious. “I—I ordered them to…” He straightened as though remembering where they were. “This isn’t the place.” Wounded eyes snapped to hers. “At home I’ll tell you everything.”

  Suppressing her horror, Charley didn’t respond, merely turned a wary gaze out the window.

  Home?

  This morning Coverstone House had felt like home in large part because of her budding relationship with Alex. Without his warmth would the manse be little more than a tomb again? Snow piled along the thin windowpane, cold and hard as the dread settling in her heart.

  Was her husband a cold killer?

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, ensconced in the privacy of their suites, Charley perched on a chair watching Ale
x pace back and forth before the door in overt agitation. “Sit before you wear a hole in the carpet,” she invited, extending an arm.

  He turned an expression full of roiling irritation to her. “Does your sarcasm know no bounds?”

  “I wasn’t being sarcastic, Alex, I’m just tired. Sit. Please.”

  Alex rolled his eyes but complied, sprawling in a chair adjacent to hers. “Christ what a mess.” He washed both hands over his face before steepling them beneath his chin. “Two years ago Tobias Witherspoon served under my command, refused to follow orders, and died as a result of his own stubborn stupidity. The incident cost me two promotions and, in short, my military career.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. No one would ever accuse Alex of overdramatizing anything—even a tale of murder. She shook her head. “There must be more to this. The general is very angry. I saw it in his eyes and you yourself told me you killed his son.”

  “The general believes I intentionally shot Tobias. Young Witherspoon and I never saw eye to eye, you see, and I—I… pulled the trigger.”

  Charley gasped, and nearly toppled from her seat. Recovered she said, “Tell me everything that happened.”

  Alex sighed, massaging his forehead before turning a resigned gaze to her. “I received several reports of battlements being laid to our southern flank. I ordered Witherspoon to take a small patrol and scout.” Alex slumped in his chair, defeated. “I-it was dusk, the kind of half-light that makes colors and shapes difficult to differentiate, and some riders were approaching through the woods where some enemy soldiers had been taken prisoner the day before. The sentries called for the riders to identify themselves but no one ever responded. A man on a huge black gelding came through the trees with a saber in his hand. He was wearing a blue coat,” his voice cracked. “I would swear to this day his uniform was blue. I could see more riders silhouetted against the trees and underbrush…” his voice trailed off, eyes growing distant and hazy. “I reacted. I pulled my sidearm up and fired. Once I shot the sentries fired as well. Tobias was killed and two other men in his patrol were badly wounded.” He paused, face thoroughly haunted. “Their uniforms were caked with mud.”